Hoodrat
by funkyhomo
Summary: Stuart Tusspot's always been nothing more than a prep school boy with a weak immune system. That is, until bad-boy Murdoc Niccals decides to change things up a bit. (hiatus till mid-August)
1. Intro

/ _i'm back?! i'm back! so i deleted my last fic because i got into a very deep funk but i think i'm a'ight now. and starting anew. endless thanks and praises be to my co-writer, idea helper, and close friend sweaterkid (on wattpad) for helping me develop this thing. so like, follow her. because she's rad as hell._

 _anywho, this is just a tiny blurb, and serves as just a little preface/intro... thing. yeah. i'll stop rambling. enjoy, kiddos._

"Dear, take your pills, hm? Don't forget."

"Yeah, yeah, Mum." Stuart disregarded his mother's overprotective nature with a lazy nod, pouring the proper number of pills out of each of his innumerable orange prescription bottles and swallowing them at once.

"I'm off," he said, slinging his school bag over his shoulder and waving casually back at his mother. He didn't want to stay around long. The only things she ever said to him anymore were complaints about how he was different now than he used to be, how he was turning into some rebellious teen, how he was starting to scare his parents with his behavior. It was annoying, frankly. And he wasn't in the mood this morning to stick around and wait for her complaining to begin.

He pushed the door out and started his daily travel to school. The thick clouds were as grey as the asphalt of the streets this morning. The air smelled like hot tar and truck exhaust and someone's washing detergent. The only splashes of color were the occasional red car that drove past.

And.

That poster over there.

He'd never seen that poster before.

Stuart detoured from his path and approached the colorful paper. It was secured lazily to a lamppost with a thin strip of tape.

It read, "Hoodrat Satan." What in the hell was a Hoodrat Satan?

A band, apparently. A band that was having a concert in their town that night.

Stuart plucked the flyer from the post and returned to his walk to school, reading over it as he walked.

This seemed like some strange underground punk band. Stuart liked it. He loved music, especially local bands, and this seemed like an interesting concert to attend. His parents would never let him go, sure, but he could find another means of transportation, right? If all else failed, he could walk.

Stuart felt a proper rebel in that moment, planning a way to go to a rock concert without his parents knowing about it. He smiled to himself and tucked the paper into his back pocket for later reference. It'd be fun.


	2. Ch 1: Hoodrat Satan

_/so i won't normally be updating this often but i had this done and i went ahead and decided to upload it because why the hell not. it still needs hella editing but, eh, i'll get around to that one day._

 _this part takes place the same day as the intro._

 _maybe i should go ahead and say a li'l about it, background-wise and stuff. this isn't present-day, it's in the mid-nineties. also, i do describe Stuart's hair as dark, not blue. that wasn't a mistake. his hair isn't blue yet, but he does have black eyes and the tooth gap. screwy? yes. but it's an au, so just roll with it. it'll make more sense at some point. xoxo_

Stuart's school day was the same as most. He'd failed a calculus test. And he had a killer migraine. Not to mention homework. But he'd be lying if he said he ever actually did any of his homework.

He got away from the school building as quickly as he could, not wanting any friends to catch up with him and attempt to start a conversation. He fished the Hoodrat Satan flyer out of his pocket and read over it again.

After a few minutes walking and deciding what excuse he'd use to get out, Stuart settled on the typical, "I'm going to a friend's house to study," and then he'd walk to the venue. It started at 8:00. He lifted his wrist to read the time on his watch.

It was past 6:00. He needed to get home soon.

Stuart's mother greeted him when he finally made it back home and shuffled through the front door. It was close to 7:00 by now.

"Oh, Stuart, you're home. Had a good day at school?"

"Yeah, hey, Mum," he mumbled, disregarding her question and pushing his schoolbag onto the table and untying his shoes from sore feet.

"Stuart, I can hear you breathing heavy from over here. Have something to drink and sit down. You know it's not good for your lungs. Here." She paused from making dinner and handed him a glass of iced water. He grunted in thanks. "Here's some painkillers. And don't forget to take your afternoon pills." she continued, setting down a handful of pill bottles near him.

Stuart gave a half-frown. He'd always had weak lungs, and a generally fragile immune system, at that, and so much as looking at all the medications he had to take every day made him queasy.

"Don't make that face, Stuart. I'm sure you'd rather not get ill. And I know _I'd_ rather you not get ill. We haven't got all the money in the world to tend those hospital bills, you know."

He didn't respond to that comment of his mother's, instead deciding to bring up the only topic on his mind, the concert.

"Hey, uh, Mum?"

"Yes, Stu?"

"Can I go over to someone's house tonight? A friend... from class? Y'know we-we got exams comin' up. An' they invited me over for studyin'."

His mother turned around, wooden spoon in hand, and raised a brow. "Will you be back before, say, 11:00?"

He nodded, a bit too zealously. "Yeah, sure thing."

"I suppose so. You'll have dinner first, thou-"

"No, I'm not hungry. I'll go get ready. Thanks, Mum."

He ran up to his bedroom and changed into a black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans. He did want to look the part, didn't he? He slipped on a dirty black pair of Chuck Taylors before trudging back downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Bye, Mum, see you later," he said, leaving swiftly through the door before she could give a response.

That was far easier than he'd anticipated.

He kept the concert flyer clutched in his palm, and he unfolded it as he walked, reading the address. He knew the street. And finding the building number wouldn't be too hard.

The summer sky was turning to pretty evening hues of peach and pale baby blue, and the temperature was perfect, making for a pleasant walk to whatever the hell this venue would be.

He found it eventually, by the time his watch read 7:55. Perfect timing. He smiled at his expert time management.

"Wait a minute," Stuart mumbled to himself. His smile quickly fizzled out. The venue was a bar. He furrowed his brows, his excitement sinking.

"You alright over there, blud?" A gruff Cockney accent greeted from nearby.

He glanced up to see who'd spoken. A young man, maybe in his thirties, was leaned against the wall of the bar, one leg propped up on the brick behind him. A cigarette hung casually from his lips in the same fashion a leather jacket hung from his shoulders. His skin was a sickly hue, complete with dark eye circles and scattered stubble, and his black hair was greasy and matted into a fringe on his forehead.

"Um, I was... I jus' realized somefin'." Stuart's gaze flicked around, making sure there were other people nearby because this guy seemed sketchy.

The man caught sight of the poster in Stuart's hand. "You're here for the concert, are you? Well, go on in then, it's startin' soon! What're you waitin' for?"

"I can't go in there." Stuart's tone was bleak. "Iss' a bar, innit? I'm not... I'm seventeen."

Mystery man scoffed. " _Please_. I'm the lead singer, mate. I got connections. I can get you in. Besides, this place don' give a shit about who comes in. You could be an infant and get three sheets to the bloody wind here for all they care. Don't know how the hell they haven' shut down yet. Anyway, come on. Concert's about to start. I just came out for a quick fag."

He smashed the cigarette under the toe of what appeared to be genuine leather boots before beckoning Stuart with a lazy hand motion.

Stuart followed, dubiously. He'd never been into a bar in his life. He gave his outdoor surroundings one last look before stepping into the dingy building.

His first impression was the smell. Pure cigarette smoke. Stuart coughed gently, his lungs tickling at heavy, dry scent in the air. It was dark in the building and there were waitresses in cropped t-shirts everywhere, all of them with tanned, flat stomachs, navel piercings, and chunky blonde highlights in their hair.

Mystery man walked ahead of Stuart, a sense of arrogance and rebellion in his step. He led Stuart to the only table without anyone else seated at it.

"Here. Seat close to the stage. Enjoy the show, mate." He turned to walk away from Stuart before swiftly and suddenly spinning back toward him as if he'd forgotten something.

"Oh. And if anyone gives you trouble for your age, tell 'em Murdoc Niccals sent you, yeah? That's me. They'll back off."

Murdoc scampered off, catapulting himself onto the stage with a running jump before grabbing the microphone at the head of the stage.

The other band members had already arranged themselves at their instruments and the bar fell at least somewhat quiet at the realization that the performance was about to start.

Immediately, Murdoc cleared his throat into the microphone. "Rather a nice lot of people we've got here tonight, if I say so myself. Alright, we'll go ahead and start, yeah?" He smirked. "Thanks for comin', ev'ryone."

He stepped back a bit and the rest of the band started their first song, a fast-paced, banging melody with rather chaotic guitar riffs.

And then Murdoc started to sing, and Stuart admittedly had to cover his ears from how loud and raucous the music was.

He couldn't really make out the lyrics, save for the occasional shout of profanity and mention of sex and the devil. Sometimes all three in the same line.

It wasn't really his type of music, he decided, but it wasn't so bad that he wanted to leave. The worst of it all was Murdoc's voice. Scratchy and hollering and off-key. Nearly laughable, really. But Stuart found himself smiling, perhaps more at the situation than anything else.

And people loved them. There were folks clapping along and yelling and whooping. Though Stuart figured most of them were drunk. Extremely drunk.

He shoved a thick chunk of his messy dark hair behind his ear. He felt out-of-place, but he was pretty sure he liked this atmosphere.

Murdoc had practically become one with the music, for how into the performance he was. He was sweating profusely, the shine of his skin visible even from Stuart's seat. He'd taken his shirt off at some point, and his chest was heaving wildly as he cranked out the lyrics to the songs like some sort of off-time, choppy, backwards clockwork.

By the end of their last song, Murdoc was effectively gasping with every inhale and he gave the crowd a half-assed thanks before slinking off to backstage.

Stuart's lips twitched into a smile. He couldn't say he'd thoroughly enjoyed the show, but he also couldn't say otherwise. It was _interesting_. That was the only word he could possibly conjure up to describe it. It simultaneously stressed him out and exhilarated him.

Stuart checked his watch again. It was only a few minutes until 10 o'clock. In theory, he figured he could hang around a little bit longer. Anything that would keep him from home for as long as possible.

He sat around for a while longer, watching the people around him flirt and laugh and order more drinks. A waitress came by Stuart's table once or twice asking if he wanted to order, but he declined each time. After nearly a half hour of nothing but people-watching, Stuart decided it was time to head home. He stood from his table, pushing the chair in behind him, and picked his way slowly toward the door, taking care to avoid the path of anyone who seemed particularly too drunk.

It was pitch-dark out. Stuart could barely see where he was walking and he stumbled out the front door, tripping over the threshold and barely catching himself.

"Nice goin'."

It was the familiar voice of that lead singer, Murdoc. Stuart looked frantically toward that gravelly voice, even hoarser now after screaming out a whole concert's worth of songs.

"You weren' s'posed to see that," Stuart mumbled, noticing with an anxious pang that there were other people all around, loitering in front of the bar alongside Murdoc.

Murdoc's only response came in the form of lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke coolly out of his mouth.

"Fag?" he offered, holding the box of cigarettes out toward Stuart.

"No, I-I'd better not, thanks."

Though the idea of standing around and smoking with these thugs was intriguing, he didn't want to risk anything, especially smelling like cigarettes when he was about to head home to his mother. Not to mention that he'd never smoked in his life and didn't want to make an idiot of himself.

"Suit yourself. Say, how'd you like the show? Good stuff, yeah?" Murdoc gave a toothy smirk before taking another long breath on his cigarette.

"Yeah, it was good. Enjoyed it." Stuart rubbed the toes of his shoes together awkwardly. It was uncomfortably humid out and he really needed to get home. Besides, he didn't know these people. They could've all very well been gang-affiliated serial murderers. Though, that could've also been Stuart's extensive repertoire of horror films talking. "So, uh. I-I think I'm goin' to head off now. Iss' gettin' late. Fanks for the show."

"Woah, woah, wait," Murdoc called after him. Stu turned back reluctantly. "You're sure you don' want to stay here with us? Hang out a spell? We don't bite. Well, most of us. Not sure I can speak for myself in that respect." He and some of the others laughed.

Stuart coughed, about to offer some feeble form of reasoning as to why he couldn't stay when the annoying, tinging sound of the Nokia ringtone started to play from his pocket. He pulled his phone out and read the tiny screen. Oh, God, it was his mother. That was never, _ever_ a signal of good news.

"Yeah, I, uh, tha's my mum callin' me. I really can't stay any longer. G'night, though." He waved weakly and turned toward home, hoping he would be able to find his way back in the dark. He spent his walk in thought about the concert and about the very unusual people he'd just met.

Once Stuart had traveled out of sight and earshot, Murdoc sighed and blew out a breath of smoke.

"Well, damn. That's a pretty boy," he mumbled, flicking his dying cigarette to the ground.


End file.
